Fighting for Hearts
by ConfessionsOfaTeenagedFangirl
Summary: I which the United Kingdom is afraid that France is cheating on him with both Spain and Seychelles. Actually K but rated T for slight implications and language.


**Ok, So I don't actually watch Hetalia (but I'm going to start) my best friend wrote this and I told her she should post it here, but she doesn't have a fanfic account (and I think she's a bit nervous about it) so she said I could post it on her behalf, so.. yeah. Okay.**

_Arthur- U.K_

_Francis- France_

_Antonio- Spain_

_Michelle- Seychelles_

* * *

**Fighting for Hearts**

* * *

"The problem is that I actually believed him!" Arthur took another drink from the bottle in front of him. "After years of fighting and staying distant from him, I actually fell for it!" Though the bar had been open for hours, it still seemed empty. Two people sat at the bar, but Arthur too drunk to be able to figure who the other one was, even if he cared to try. The bartender, stood in between them, though more toward Arthur, considering that's where he was getting the most business, and dried a glass.

"Excuse me, sir, but are you talking to me?" He asked, shifting uncomfortably. Arthur looked up at him, his eyes slightly glazed. He opened his mouth to say something, but realized he wasn't even sure of the answer. His jaw hung loose for a few moments more, and then he closed it. The bartender sent him a nervous look and then continued his cleaning of the glass. Arthur growled under his breath and closed his eyes.

_He lay on a bed, curling in on himself. He didn't appreciate the absence of warmth just behind him, and weight that was concentrated on the side of the bed. He blinked open his eyes. "You bastard," he said, though there was no hatred behind the words. "I was comfortable. Why did you have to move?"_

_"Oh, calm down," Francis said, not looking back at him. "I just had to use the bathroom. Perhaps we should get dressed and leave. Everyone will be looking for us." Arthur knew that was true, but everything had been so perfect just a few moments ago, he didn't want to lose it._

_"Isn't it kind of funny how we've spent our entire lives hating each other," Arthur said. "And yet we easily turned to . . . . something else?"_

_"Ohonhon, but didn't you know? The most passionate of hates can easily turn to love. And you and I both know that I know all there is to know about that," Francis said with a wink. Arthur blinked at how casually Francis had used the word love. But, the more he thought about it, the more perfect the word seemed to him. "Although, I suspect I'm not the only one who knows about love, considering the way you attacked me last night." Arthur tried not to blush._

_"Oh, please," Arthur said, punctuating the statement with a sigh. "You know as well as I do that you started flirting with me long before I started flirting with you." He rolled on the bed to face Francis, who turned and looked back at him. They sat there for a while, gazing into each other's eyes. "I never expected, of all things, to end up here . . . " He trailed off._

_"But here we are," Francis said. He smirked and stroked Arthur's arm. "Oui, tormenting you was fun, mon ami, but this is très prèfèrable." His smile grew into a grin. "However, you are still wrong. You started coming at me first."_

_Arthur stifled a laugh, trying to stir up the anger that usually came from petty arguments with Francis, but there was only a slight annoyance at himself that he couldn't find anything to rebuttal with. Francis stood and stretched, and then reached for his shirt and slid his arms through the sleeves. "Stop being so damn sexy. Can't you see I'm trying to be mad at you?" Francis turned around and grinned devilishly at Arthur, who then pulled him back into the bed, their lips coming back to each other._

Arthur shook his head. He couldn't think about that now. He couldn't think about anything. Just those memories smashed his heart into even more shards. He slammed his fist on the bartop. Just then, the door screeched as it opened, letting in a blast of chilly winter air. He turned around, about to yell at whoever opened the door to shut it. And then he choked on air.

There stood Francis. His long blond hair was slightly messy from the wind outside, his chin just as scruffy as usual. His eyes . . . weren't directed at Arthur. They darted around his face, but never met him in the eyes. He desperately wanted Francis to look him in the eyes. After throwing some money on the bar to pay for the drinks and stood up. He stepped forward and looked Arthur in the eyes.

_Arthur walked down the street, bags in his arms filled with fresh bread and fruits. After Francis continually cooking him delicious breakfasts, he figured that he should repay the gesture. The problem was, Francis detested his cooking, and Arthur knew it. So he went with a substitute of delicious store bought foods._

_As he passed a café, he heard a familiar voice. " . . . move on to someone with interest in you." Arthur stopped short, looking around for the voice he had grown to know so well. Finally, he found him, sitting with a handsome, curly haired stranger._

_"I really do appreciate this," the stranger said._

_"You are mon ami, Antonio. Sometimes. Just make sure you know who cares for you." He gave this Antonio a large smile, and squeezed his shoulder. "Au revoir."_

_"Adiós."_

_Arthur watched him head back to his house where the two were staying for the time being._

_What was going on?_

. . . . . . . .

_While he passed the door to the sitting room, Arthur heard voices. He backed up and peeked into the room through the cracked door. Inside, he saw a young girl with dark hair in red ribbons, her dark skin off set by a light blue dress, sitting very closely next to Francis. So close that she decided to lay her head on his shoulder._

_"And that fish! I threw the fish right into your lap!" The two laughed. "Oh, Francis, I miss you so much sometimes. I really enjoy your company, but we never get to see each other."_

_"Well, 'Chelle, we may get to see each other more often if all goes well." He grabbed her hand and stood up, pulling her up with him._

_Arthur couldn't believe what was going on. Michelle used to be a friend of his. And yet here she was, doing who knows what with Francis. The event with Antonio was forgotten until now. He had assumed that he had completely misjudged the situation, but now . . . . now he wasn't so sure._

_Francis brushed Michelle's hair from her face and smiled down at her. "You grew up to be so beautiful, ma chère," and he kissed her on the forehead. Anger boiled up inside Arthur like never before. Never before had he felt so betrayed. Never before had he felt so confused. Never before had he been so angry at Francis. Never before had he been so angry, period._

The two hugged and then he showed her to the back door. Arthur shook as he stood.

"S'il vous plaît, just listen to me." Francis looked at Arthur, his eyes pleading and sorrowful.

"Why should I listen to you?" Arthur asked. You never told me the truth!"

"What are you talking about? I never lied to you! Well, I mean, after we . . . once we . . . ."

"You may not have lied," Arthur agreed solemnly, "but you kept the truth from me, which is far worse." Arthur took a step forward, and Francis did the same, meeting each other face to face, intimately close. "And, even worse, you made me feel important. You made me feel special until I saw you talking to everyone like that."

"You can't leave," Francis said, his voice betraying none of the shock his widened eyes showed..

"Oh, really, you obnoxious froggy bastard? Watch me leave. I will walk out that door, one foot at a time, and you. Can't. Stop. Me," Arthur said, each word punctuated as if a sentence in itself.

"Please don't," Francis said, his voice breaking. "Not until I've explained." Only now did Arthur realize just how silent the bar had become. In his partially intoxicated state, his senses were duller than he wished they would be at a time like this.

"What are you going to explain? That moment with Antonio at the café? Or that moment with Michelle in your house?"

"Both, actually," Francis said. And then he opened his mouth and began.

_"So, I really hope Lovino warms up to me sometime soon. I care for him. Profundamente," a well tanned, curly haired young man said. "And you seem to be very good at getting people to care for you, so I thought you could help me."_

_"Oh, Antonio," Francis said with a soft chuckle. "You try so hard. You give him gifts all the time, no?"_

_Antonio nodded fervently. "Si, I give him lots of gifts. Mostly tomates."_

_"And what does he call you?"_

_ ". . . Asshole," Antonio said in defeat. Francis laughed allowed at this. "You bastardo," the hispanic said. "It's not funny." But soon he was laughing too. "Okay, maybe it is. Un poco."_

_ "Well," Francis said, after the two had calmed down. "I think it's not you that is the problem. Obviously, you have made your feelings very clear. I feel that Lovino does care for you, but he has a reputation to uphold as a tough guy." He brushed his hair behind his ear.. "Either you accept this and let him slowly develop his feelings for you, which could take forever, or," and at this he leaned forward, "you move on to someone with interest in you."_

_Antonio sat in silence as he thought, then smiled. "Gracias, amigo. I really do appreciate this."_

_ "You are mon ami, Antonio . . . sometimes." Francis gave a sly smile. "Just make sure you know who cares for you." Francis stood up and, as he passed Antonio on his way out, pat him on the shoulder. "Au revoir."_

_"Adiós."_

"You were . . . giving him love advice?" Arthur was dumbstruck.

"But of course. Je t'aime, Arthur," Francis said, giving a sad smile. I would never betray you. I was trying to help other people be happy."

"But, Michelle-"

"Is a good friend of yours, oui," Francis interrupted. "However, I met her when she was young. I taught her a lot. She is like ma soeur. My sister. Nothing more. I love her, oui, but not like I love you."

The two stood silently for several minutes, maybe hours, and it was slightly awkward, but in a way that getting back on a bike is awkward after not riding for months, or maybe years. It's alien and odd, like a distant memory that you don't relate to yourself. But the familiarity returns quickly, and soon, you can do all you could before, and more.

"Forgive me, Francis," Arthur said, finally, and threw himself into the outstretched arms of Francis Bonnefoy.

"Non, you must forgive me for not being completely honest. I just did not want to embarrass Antonio by sharing his secret, and Michelle, well, after her falling-out with you, we didn't want to make things awkward."

"I missed you, Francis Bonnefoy," Arthur said, staring up at Francis.

"I missed you, Arthur Kirkland," Francis replied, leaned down and kissed him.


End file.
